


Nomads

by pigeonstatueconundrum



Series: Neophytes & Nomads [2]
Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Exorcisms, M/M, Muslim Character, Surprise Kissing, What a horrible day for an exorcism, exorcists that aren't Catholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonstatueconundrum/pseuds/pigeonstatueconundrum
Summary: Tomas kisses Marcus outside a bar in Ohio they don’t speak for twenty four hours.Tomas pines, Marcus is incommunicado and Anabia would like to get out of Cleveland





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [OC moodboard: Anabia Mahmood](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/344262) by pathetiaaesthetia. 



> This is continuation of Neophytes. Although it is not essential that you read that first, a character from that one appears here.

[Nomads](https://pathetiaaesthetia.tumblr.com/post/168400788439/nomads-moodboard-the-exorcist-tomas-kisses) moodboard - pathetiaaesthetia

 

 

Tomas kisses Marcus outside a bar in Ohio they don’t speak for twenty four hours.

The last exorcism had been hard fought and even harder gained. Exhaustion would take the place of joy after a nights sleep in another anonymous motel, but for now the elation of victory makes Tomas’ body and blood sing. Tomas will never get used to these moments. He treasures them in a sacred place in his soul, how every moment after that first true breath of the un-possessed feels like a true miracle. Tomas can see God’s path shining over the world like an oil spill, like the rainbow at the end of Noah’s Ark. God’s promise that he would not let the world suffer again.

They had been lucky to find a bar both open and willing to re-fire up the grill for two tired if somewhat charming priests. From the corner booth Marcus and Tomas watch the few remaining patrons whiling away the hours until closing time.

Even now Tomas can feel God’s love in this room hovering over the wonky pool table and the dirty glasses. 5 months of close personal and professional proximity has made Tomas’ mind known to Marcus, who only smiles indulgently as he passes out cutlery with a brush of his fingers against Tomas’. They murmur grace over their burgers, Tomas meaning every word despite the sharpness of his hunger. He tries to not read too the way Marcus’ eyes never left his face when they were giving the Lord thanks.

“Someone’s hungry.”

Tomas’ laughs around a mouthful of fries, “I’m glad not to be eating cheese sandwiches again.”

Marcus inclines his head in agreement, “When your wife is possessed the groceries tend to fall by the wayside.”

Tomas’ recalls the crumpled face on the victim’s husband, a strong man whose world had been stripped down to the figure writhing in pain on their marital bed. He’d sat outside of the room, day in and out, head in his hands. Joking about his ability to stock the cupboards even after the fact seemed a little insensitive. Tomas’ regrets his words and opens his mouth to say so but Marcus’ waves it away.

“Here, you’ve got…” Marcus laughs, motioning across his own face. Tomas wipes his own face ineffectually. Marcus leans across the table and brushes his thumb against the ketchup stain on Tomas’ cheek.

Tomas’ feels the aftershocks of the moment travel from his lips down to where their knees are forced together. Marcus won’t look at him and the booth feels too small and the world too big to contain them in this moment. His heart is hammering in his chest so loud that Marcus must be able to feel it where there soles are touching.

When he finds it in himself to look up, Marcus is already looking away.  
“You did well today.” He murmurs. The confession is quiet and without inflection, as if Marcus is complementing the dart board.

“Thanks.” Tomas’ feels the need to do elaborate, embarrassment making him talkative, “It doesn’t feel easier but it feels…” he searches, the phrase on the tip of his tongue. “Like I’m on the right path. The terrain is ever changing but I know I’m where I need to be.”

Marcus nods as if he had never considered it to be otherwise. Their accord, a tiny fragile honest thing that could only survive in the aftermath of a miracle, makes Tomas bold. “It’s good not be alonee, on the same path.”

Marcus looks up at that, His lips slightly parted. His eyes are wide with an expression that something in Tomas recognises and reflects. But instead of recognition, Marcus looks sombre.

The words are nothing Tomas’ hasn’t said before in a moment of relief or implied in gesture or expression. But in the unbearable intimacy they have found themselves in it means everything. Under the flickering neon their relationship looks like something new but again something familiar. Tomas is frozen in indecision, considering crossing some Rubicon he isn’t entirely sure he has created through wishful thinking. Part of him wants to stay on his side of the bank, walking on tandem with Marcus on the other side, together but never quite.

The moment is getting to close. Tomas’ previous need for resolution curdles his breast at Marcus’ expression. In his panic retreat is the only option.

“Forgive me I need..,” Tomas trails off as he stands from the table. Marcus tenses in sympathetic action as if about to follow unthinkingly. Tomas is quicker and leaves his half eaten meal and unfinished conversation in search of clarity outside.

There is nothing like that to be found, however. The temperature is still too warm even for October and away from the bars air conditioning Tomas’ temples prickle with sweat. There is no peace of mind to be found among the stained ashtrays and cracked benches. Tomas sits, head in hands, amidst these broken alone things that have been measured and found wanting and feels impossibly sad.

Tomas feels the bench dip as a presence settles by his side. He feels a tentative hand hover above his own before their mind changes. He looks over at Marcus, still reflecting his own hesitancy.

“Your faith is strong Tomas.” Marcus murmurs, quiet enough that Tomas has to lean in to hear. “You should never doubt you are on the right path.”

Marcus pauses, unable to look Tomas in the eye, “I doubted I was on the right for so long, but came and I…” He takes a shuddering breath and Tomas can’t bear it any longer.

He kisses Marcus. Tomas has no idea why or maybe far too many ideas why. Because his life requires him to have faith, faith that the answers will present themselves later. Because he’s been feeling a surplus of love for the world and Marcus has fast become the centre of his personal universe. Because it isn’t easy but it’s right. Because it could be an extension or a detour of the path they are on together and there is no other way of finding out. Because he is a man who sees God in oil spills.

And it’s strange and unnerving and Tomas has no idea if he is doing it right or even if what he is doing is right. He is uncomfortably aware of his hands and how they grasp in mid-air as if they were the last limb informed of his conclusion. In an instinctual need to have him closer, Tomas cradles Marcus’ head, his thumb brushing against the pulse point that hammers in time with his own.

Marcus’ limbs also seem to need a moment to catch on as his mouth gapes under Tomas’ before coming alive. Marcus kisses with a zeal that Tomas had only seen him give the most bloody of exorcisms. He pulls Tomas closer his fingers briefly slipping under Tomas’ shirt, leaving him shuddering and electric for more.

He is so lost in the sensation it takes a few shameful seconds to realises Marcus has pulled away. Tomas cannot bear to look at the expression he knows he will see. He will be kind, Tomas knows, the rebuke will be gentle and Marcus will only blame himself. The denial of his own choice in the matters flares anger bright in Tomas’ belly. Marcus will martyr himself in the face of a decision that was solely made by Tomas.

“I’m sorr…” Marcus starts before Tomas cuts him off. He pulls away from where Marcus hands are still thoughtlessly rubbing circles against his hip.

“Don’t.” Tomas snaps, His voice harsh with tiredness and frustration. “It’s late we should find a room for the night.

In the morning Marcus is gone and Tomas is left alone.


	2. II

[Anabia Mahmood](http://pigeonstatueconundrum.tumblr.com/post/168165359493/oc-moodboard-anabia-mahmood-neophytes) - pigeonstatueconundrum

Tomas stares at the space where Marcus should be and slowly falls apart. He is in the process of imagining any number of scenarios , each one more perilous and detailed than the last, that could have be fallen an ex-priest, when a  knock sounds. His heart tells him is Marcus his mind is still expecting the denizens of hell.

 

Anabia Mahmood stands on the other side of the door.  She takes in Tomas’ unkempt hair and eyes, wild after an hour of fruitlessly looking for Marcus, with an unreadable expression. Her voice when she finally speaks is gentle in a way that Tomas recognizes from his own dealing with talking to the traumatised. 

 

“Are you coming?” She says.

 

 “Coming where? Do you know where Marcus is?” Tomas asks, his mind still unable to comprehend that Marcus has left him.

 

“He did not share his plans with me.” Anabia pauses, “I see he did not share them with you either.”

Tomas shook his head.

 

“He said he needed to go away for a while, I told him of a... problem I have and he offered your assitance. I assumed…” She trails off something in Tomas’ expression stalling her words.

 

“He didn’t say anything?” Tomas runs his fingers through his hair, “Where he was going, for how long, nothing?”

 

Anabia shook her head, “I’m sorry.”

 

“I should find him.” Tomas says even as he is unsure how such a task would be achieved.

 

 “I cannot help you with that Father Ortega.” Anabia sighs, “But you were sent to me for a reason. There is a little girl that needs my help. And I yours.”

 

Tomas looks into the bare room behind him. Marcus had taken any evidence of his existence and Tomas’ never unpacked his bags from last night. After their confrontation he had barely enough energy to throw himself onto the hard motel mattress and fight his way to unconsciousness. 

 

There is nothing to keep him here, Marcus certainly hadn’t thought so.

 

“Let me get my bags.”

 

Tomas does not ask where they are going, just stows his bags in the trunk of Anabia’s car and climbs in. He spends the first hour with his face pressed against the window, dropping in and out of uneasy unconsciousness. Anabia, for her part, does not try and draw him into conversation. She keeps her eyes on the road, holding her own council behind a pair of pink sunglasses and a top 40 radio station.

 

He comes back to himself as they approach Cleveland. “The girl how long has she possessed?”

 

Anabia inclines her head towards the back seat where a folder of neatly compiled evidence similar to the one she’d supplied for the Bauman case rested. Tomas took it and let all thoughts of Marcus bleed away as he concentrated on the case.

 

“The mother estimates a month, maybe more. She assumed the divorce had made Nadia distant but I have cause to believe she is possessed by a Jinn.”

 

Tomas peruses the packet, the faces of the Bashir family looking up at him. The mother, Hana, had her arms wrapped around a sunny faced girl and a sullen looking boy.

 

Anabia nods to the photograph “Ibrahim heard his sister laughing and talking in her sleep.”

“Have you seen her yourself?” Tomas asks his heart seizing as he saw the most recent picture of Nadia Bashir, her eyes sunken and dark.

Anabia shakes her head, “The family Imam is a mentor of mine and he knows the signs.”

 Tomas turns his attention from the girl his companion. She was holding onto the steering wheel just a little too tight. There was something about this that seemed strange to him. He tamps down on the automatic reaction to turn to catch Marcus’ eye.

 

 “This case is distressing,” He ventures, “But why do you need me?” I want to help I just…”

Anabia seems to be considering her answer, “The case is personnel. A little back up would be prudent.”

 

They sit in silence as Tomas concentrates on the information about the demon he would soon face and Anabia lost in something he was not privy to.

 

Imam Tahmeed is an elderly man with a  beard is as white as his taqiyah. Despite his age and the slowness in his limbs he is an imposing man whose hand envelops Tomas’ own as he invites them into his home.

 

“Anabia has told me about you.” The Imam says, gesturing to the woman he had greeted like a beloved daughter.

 

“All good I hope.” Tomas says nervous and feeling Marcus’ easy charm keenly.

“Very little, which is much more interesting I think.” Imam Tahmeed chuckles. As if sensing the empty place at Marcus’ left he inquires, “Father Keene could not make it?”

 

Tomas turns to Anabia who is already looking at him, “He is unavailable.” He answers shortly.

 

The Imam nods, “He must have great trust in you to trust you with this.”

 

“I hope so.” Tomas murmured.

 

Tomas sits with Anabia around Tahmeed’s kitchen table. The surface is groaning with books and letters. Tomas recognises a number of copies of the 72nd sura with copious annotations. The pile of letters closest to Tomas is all written in different hands. He recognises Anabia’s handwriting as the most frequent.  The Imam notices his interest as he hands Tomas his coffee.

 

“Since I retired I live vicariously through Anabia and my other students.” He smiles, “Makes me feel useful.”

 

“You don’t feel the desire to return to the field?” Tomas asks.

 

The older man shakes his head, shooing Anabia away as she moves to help him sit down.

 

“Sometimes, but you must remember how busy everyday parish work can be. It is nice to have my feet firmly placed at the mosque. But I have been lucky to find willing pupils to carry on my work. There are so few exorcists these days.”

 

 

Tomas agrees, “We had noticed that. Rome sends so few exorcists out. Marcus says…”

 

The question of Marcus still lingers in his mind despite his fervent desire to concentrate on the case.  Anger still lingers in the back of his mind like a questioning mist souring the sweetness of his memory of their kiss. He had awoken that morning aching with the need to put things right. The desire turned to an underlying frustration at the disappearance of his partner.

 

“You have been lucky.” Tahmeed says, taking pity Tomas and his unfinished thoughts, “to have found a teacher to take you on.  Perhaps you will help me encourage Anabia to take a pupil, Insh’Allah.” He finishes with a smirk at Anabia over his cup.

 

Anabia fixes her mentor with look that speaks volumes on the frequency of this conversation, “Insh’Allah maybe, but the desires of the community are not the same. There is very few who would take instruction from a woman. Let alone from me.”

 

Tomas is about to ask Anabia why when he catches Tahmeed’s eye. The Imam shakes his head minutely and Tomas drops it. His lack of knowledge about the woman Marcus had dumped him on was embarrassingly apparent. Marcus’ trust in her had always been enough for him. But Marcus had taken any solid foundation with him when he had fled. The bastard.

 

They mercifully move onto the case.  Tahmeed shares what Ibrahim Bashir told him of his sister; her sleep interrupted by laughing fits and mutterings in a deep unrecognisable voice, the cruel taunting of her mother and the broken hand of a classmate.

 

“I was surprised when he came to me,” Tahmeed confides, “He is a clever boy, you understand, just directionless. The divorce hit both he and his sister hard and with this possession.”

“What has been done for her so far?” Anabia asks.

 

“I left a Nushrah and prayed with the family but there is very little else I could do.” He sighs.

 

“We should go now.” Anabia says. “I do not want to wait while she suffers.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Tahmeed asks. 

 

Anabia shakes her head vehemently, “Hana will let me in. She never held a grudge against me and her daughter is in need of aid.”

 

As head back to Anabia’s car the Imam stops Tomas and draws him aside.

“Anabia’s past is her own and you are a good man Father Tomas and I know you will not pry.” He says. He is still a commanding presence and Tomas can all too easily imagine him in his prime casting out demons of any creed. To be on the end of that scrutiny is a little intimidating. “But this will be difficult for her, being here, and I am glad she will not be alone.”

 

“I’m glad you think I can help.” Tomas answers shakily.

Tahmeed only smiles kindly “May Allah bestow his blessings on you Father Ortega. I wish you both luck.”

 

Tomas joins Anabia in the car and they drive off, waving at the Imam the porch. She looks resigned but ready, a look that Tomas can relate too. He gathers his bags, finding his Crucifix and Stole, laying them on his lap in preparation. His bag feels heavier than usual and a cursory dig at the bottom reveals why.

 

 Marcus has left his Bible with Tomas. It is unmistakable his; the dark ominous drawings, the angry scribbles through relevant passages, a paper and leather testament to Marcus’ faith. It engenders such feeling in Tomas. He feels like he should march to wherever Marcus had hidden himself and throw it back in his face. He wants to weeps, to scream to laugh. He wants to hold it close and never let go. He wants and he wants.

 

“He will be back for it.” Anabia says and Tomas starts embarrassed to have forgotten she was there. “He is not someone who would leave something he holds so dear for long.”

 

They pull up to a suburban street full of life. The lights are on, family moving behind the windows laughing and eating together. Only one house is not illuminated. The house at the end of the street. Tomas knows their destination.

 

Grabbing his own bags, Marcus’ Bible stowed safely away where he does not have to look at it, Tomas helps Anabia with her luggage. She drops the folder of evidence and it goes flying paper strewing all over the sidewalk. Sighing, Anabia goes after the errant paper gathering the pages.

 

Tomas smiles politely as an older woman with two small girls who look like her grandchildren walk past. The youngest, seeing Anabia struggling, rushes forward to help her, despite her grandmother’s warning. The girl taps Anabia on the shoulder and proudly hands the page to her. Anabia looks up and sees the child her eyes going wide.

 

“You dropped this.” The girl said, her bright eyes only showing slight confusion at frozen woman on the pavement who was making no move to take the page from her.

 

The Grandmother drew near and grabbed the girl “Aaliyah come here.”

 

“I was only helping.” Aaliyah wined letting the woman push her and her sister towards a house the other side of the road.  

 

The woman thrust the paper at Anabia, nearly throwing it in her shocked face. “You should not have returned.”

 

“I know.” Anabia whispers. Her eyes lingering on the house the girls had disappeared into.

 

“I suppose you are here to take care of the Bashir girl.” The woman took in Tomas with a nod, “You should leave as soon as you can.  Naseem won’t want to see you neither will the girls.”

 

“I want…”Anabia started but the woman was gone without a backward glance.

 

Anabia stood, looking unsure as if considering running after the family. Shaking herself she nods towards the dark house. “We should go.”

 

“Anabia…”

 

Anabia straitens up and grabs her bags, “That is where I am needed.” And she walks away leaving Tomas to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> overwhelmed with the response. please know all comments and kudos make me so happy.  
> Thank you.


	3. III

Hana Bashir tentatively unlocks the door, only opening it all the way when she recognises Anabia. Her face is drawn and a purple bruise can be glimpsed from under her hijab but she seems in better spirits than other’s Tomas has seen.

“As-salamu Alaikum Ana.” She greats

“Wa-alaikum Mussalam. “ Anabia replies.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” She is still wound tightly after what happened; there is brittleness in her tone that Tomas has never heard before. He remembers Marcus’ voice had had the same desperate quality after the demon had impersonated his mother. Ignoring his thoughts of Marcus Tomas tries to concentrate on Hana.

“It is.” She says firmly. She draws Anabia into a hug, “We are not in our twenties anymore and you came back to help, didn’t you.”

“I did.” Anabia says, returning the embrace stiffly.

Hana smiles in greeting as she spots Tomas “As-salamu Alaikum Father.”

“Wa-alaikum Mussalam” Tomas repeats quashing his frustration at his own awkwardness. He had done this countless times, but by removing the variable of Marcus’ presence had thrown Tomas’ gravity out of order.

“When Imam Tahmeed said you were brining someone I did not think it would be a Catholic Priest. It’s like the beginning of a bad joke isn’t it, a Priest and a Muslim Exorcist….” She trailed off her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s alright.” Tomas assures her, “I’m here to help Anabia in any way I can.”  
“Tomas and his partner are the best.” Anabia adds, “We are going to save Nadia I promise.”

“You can’t promise that.” Says another voice. Tomas looks over to see a young man, no older than eighteen blocking the doorway his face stormy and hard. “The Jinn could kill her or you could kill her by trying.”

“Ibrahim.” His mother pleads.

“We are here to help her.” Tomas says, “I promise we will do anything in our power to save your sister.”

He ignores Tomas instead turning to Anabia who is staring at the boy with a strange expression.

“How do I know you’ll follow through? You abandoned your family, how do I know you won’t abandon Nadia.”

Hana looks like she is about to say something but Anabia just inclines her head. “You remember me don’t you? As your mother’s friend, your neighbour, your Auntie Anabia, yes?”

Ibrahim scowls mutinously but still nods in agreement.  
“I am still those things but I am also what Allah has called me to be. When Allah calls you obey and that is what I here for. I am an Exorcist and I will do everything in my power to save your sister.”

She pauses and considers Ibrahim who now looks as drained as his mother now his anger has left him, “Will you help me.” She asks.

He nods and with a brief look to his mother leads them to where his sister is waiting.

Nadia Bashir is tied to her bed. It was done with care; the ropes were made of T-shirt’s, sturdy and soft. The girl is sleeping, mercifully. Her face is even more hollowed than the last photo Tomas had seen, mottled bruising on her cheeks and scratches on her arms. The Nushrah Imam Tahmeed had left is still hanging around her neck, the skin underneath is red as if burnt.

As Tomas sets out his materials onto a bedroom dresser covered in superhero stickers, Ibrahim leans down to mop the girl’s brow, tenderly tucking a strand of pale brown hair behind her ear and tightening the restraints with proficient motions.

“You should leave now.” Tomas says as kindly as he can.

“I can help.” He insists.

Anabia gently squeezes the boy’s shoulder, “You have done all you can for her. Now your mother needs you.”

Ibrahim agrees reluctantly and leaves with one last longing look at his sister.  
Anabia closes the door and draws on her white gloves, “Are you ready.”

As Tomas prays to god for guidance through the night he also sends a prayer to Marcus wherever he may be. He looks again at Marcus’ Bible and how it fits just right in his palm.

“I’m ready.”

Anabia starts to chants, the ancient Arabic rolling off her tongue with an assurance that Tomas envied. He grips Marcus’ Bible tighter and begins. The demon awakens screaming to the sound of two voices joint in ancient powerful tongues.

The Demon continues to scream throughout the night, leaving Nadia Bashir’s voice raw. In spite of this it still taunts them. Turning Nadia’s head it smiles innocently at Anabia where she taking a brief respite against the wall.

“This body making you nostalgic Auntie Anabia ,” The girl croons. “This would be the age Lana was we you abandoned her. Aaliyah hadn’t even finished breast feeding.”

Its laugh turns into another scream as Tomas splashes her with holy water. But it carries on, “She’s not so small now. Did the other Jinn pretend to be them I wonder? I bet you were glad you abandoned them, it can’t hurt you when you can’t remember their little faces.”

Anabia gives out a soft sob as she sees something that Tomas cannot, the demon smirks widely showing a gap toothed smile, “Does it hurt now Mummy.”

The voice that emerges is the same as the girl who had handed Anabia the page.

“Anabia. That’s not her, you know that.”

Anabia cannot hear him; she is walking towards the girl, lost in the image that the demon had conjured.

“What sort of mother abandons her children? Leaving them with only their unbelieving father and your mother. She never supported your dream, who knows how she’ll treat the next generation. They don’t even remember you.”

Tomas tries to grab at Anabia to pull her away but the Demon flings against the dresser. Marcus’ Bible flies away from him hitting the opposite wall.

“You wanted to leave them.” The demon says, laughing at the tears that are running down Anabia’s face. “You resented the time they took away from your studies. All that screaming and feeding and attention they needed.”

Woozily Tomas gets up and lurches towards Anabia who is slowly reaching towards the demon.  
“Perhaps I’ll visit them after this. I can show them such great and terrible things.”  
Anabia screams as if burnt as Tomas pushes her away from the Demon and thrusting his crucifix in Nadia’s face, “We drive you from us, whoever you may be,” he recites.

“And you, you are the best nursemaid the old fool could send her.” The demon contemptuously turns to hiss at Tomas.

“Unclean spirits, all satanic powers,” Tomas continues, his voice rising to try and cover the horrifying laughter of the demon.

“Tomas, Tomas,” A familiar voice croons. Tomas halts for a second his mind going blank as his heart leaps in his chest.

“You are nothing without me darling.” The demon said with Marcus’ voice. “You failed me and now you will fail her. I knew I was wrong to put my faith in such a weak pitiful excuse...”

“All infernal invaders, all wicked legions,” Tomas tries, but his voice is weak. The blood rushing in his ears is too much. His thoughts feels swollen, his eyes are stinging.

“You’ll just open yourself up to the first pretty thing that shows you any attention, first Jessica and now me.”

Tomas crumbles at the truth of that statement. Because it’s true. 18 hours and 100 miles and he’s still stuck in that bar in Missouri, waiting to cross that Rubicon. He’s blindly followed Marcus’ star for months now and the second Marcus leaves he’s lost. He’s slowly becoming aware of wetness on his cheeks and then something hits him in the chest.

Coming slowly back to himself, Tomas grabs at the offending item. It’s made of papers, stained with water and ink and blood. It’s Marcus’, but for now it is his. Marcus gave it to him. And Marcus is not someone who would leave something he holds so dear for long.

Tomas looks up at the person who gave him the Bible. He expects to see Anabia staring at him with understanding. Part of him almost expects to see Marcus, compassionate in his exasperation but always there when Tomas truly needs him. Instead he sees Ibrahim, his face pale but resolute. Tomas thanks him as he pulls him to his feet.  
  
Anabia is already standing, the room ringing with the sound of her voice. Her eyes are bright and resolute even as they are red with unshed tears. Tomas’ voice joins hers, Marcus’ Bible falling open to the right page in his hand.

Ibrahim stands next to them staring at the Jinn that sobs for his aid in his sisters voice. Out of the corner of his eye Tomas sees Ibrahim take one last look at his sister before he starts to speak his voice growing stronger and stronger as he recites the Throne verse.

Their voices grow and grow before Anabia grabs Nadia’s thrashing form with her white gloved hands and calls her name. There is own last deathly howl and The Jinn is no more.  
Anabia falls back as Ibrahim rushes to his sister’s side, gently taking her into his arms as she awakens with a gasp for air.

Tomas falls against the wall letting the left over adrenaline thrum through him. Anabia joins him and the two watch as Ibrahim welcomes his sister back.

“Thank you.” She murmurs.

Tomas spares her an exhausted smile. She is not the person he wants at his side, and he suspects she feels the same. But in this moment he is gladder for her than he can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best xxx


	4. IV

The moments after an Exorcism are always strange. The freefall of adrenaline and awe at the achievement of the impossible, slowly giving way to the banal. Wounds must be healed, neighbours must be pacified and stomachs must be filled. Nadia Bashir is being filled with milkshakes and toast, staring up at her mother and brother with wide confused eyes.

 

And in these moments Tomas would look at Marcus and see the same expression of relief and joy reflected back.  Sharing the proof of the rightness of their life’s path with someone is heady. The knowledge that their past, present and future is entwined with yours in a way that is the closest to holy that anything secular could be.

 

Anabia is not sharing this moment with Tomas. Instead she is being re-introduced to Nadia, who takes in the news of a new/old Auntie that same way she had taken in the story of her possession, with confusion and a request for more chocolate milk.

 

Introductions to the other Bashir child are going better. She and Ibrahim have been talking quietly for the last ten minutes. The combination of regaining his sister and helping with the exorcism have lightened him somehow. He is smiling up at Anabia with the light of discovery in his face, his hand moving animatedly over a copy of the 72nd sura.

 

Tomas’ phone rings. Apologising to the Bashir’s he retreats into the hall and closes the door, he scrambles in the bottom of his bag. The display informs him he missed 3 calls from an unknown number. His heart in his throat and his mind rushing to a horrifying vision of Marcus  pressing quarter after quarter into a payphone run through his mind before he can press the phone to his ear.

 

His heart sinks as the voice that speaks is unknown to him, “Hello is this Father Tomas Ortega?”

 

“Yes, who is this?”

 

“I’m calling from Columbus General.”  She must hear Tomas’ panicked breathing on the other side of the line as she continues in a gentler tone, “Your partner, Marcus Keane was in an altercation this morning.”

 

“If he okay? What happened?” If Marcus is badly hurt Tomas will never forgive himself.

 

“He’s alright now, Father. Just a broken leg. There was an altercation no one is pressing charges but we just need someone to release him too.”

 

“Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Tomas considers begging the woman to keep Marcus there but she ends the call.

 

Numbly he re-opens the door. His expression must be bad as Anabia is on her feet the second he enters the room.

 

“It’s Marcus. He’s in the hospital in Cleveland.”

 

Anabia nods moves to go, “I’ll drive you.”

 

“You’re coming back, right?”   Ibrahim asks, he looks torn between following Anabia and staying with his sister.

 

Anabia pauses looking at Hana unsure of her response.

 

“You’re always going to be welcome here Ana.” She says, rising with a squeeze to her son’s shoulder.

 

Anabia shakes her head before pulling Hana into a hug that manages to surprises the other woman this time.

 

“I can’t stay but, Thank you, truly”

 

Tomas and Anabia pull out of the neighbourhood quickly. Almost too quickly for Tomas to register the older woman watching half hidden behind the curtains from across the street.

 

He explains to Anabia what the receptionist said, she takes it in with a nod. “He’ll be fine. He’s be injured before.”

 

“But I wasn’t there, I should have been. If I had he wouldn’t be in the hospital.” Tomas murmurs.

 

“You don’t know that.” Anabia says, “What I do know is you saved my life tonight.”

 

“I didn’t.” Tomas protest but Anabia cuts him off.

 

“You did. And I want to thank you for that.”

 

Anabia drums her fingers on the steering wheel, wrestling with something in her mind. She looked over at Tomas where he’s gripping Marcus’ Bible with white knuckles.

 

“I was possessed.” She admits, “Aaliyah had just been born and I was just so tired, and anxious and crying all the time. They never diagnosed it, what with what came after but…” she trails off.

 

“It promised it could make me better, Stop me from crying, and give me back my love for my children.” She shakes her head. “Have you ever been possessed Tomas?”

 

Tomas shook his head unable to speak.

 

“It’s wonderful to begin with. Everything was brighter and sweeter, I was cured. At first.”

 

“Imam Tahmeed, He was your Exorcist.”

 

Anabia hummed in agreement. “He did not blame me and at the time it felt like everyone else did. I needed someone to believe in me. When I told my family that I was going to become an Exorcist they were not pleased.”

 

“They shouldn’t have thrown you out.” Tomas says.

 

“I threw myself out.” Anabia corrects, “This job takes everything and there is no room for anything else. You saw what happened when I became distracted.  It is better if I am alone.”

 

“I can’t accept that.” Tomas says. Running his finger over the spine of Marcus’ Bible where the leather is torn.

 

“Caring does not help.” Anabia insists. She isn’t angry just resigned.

 

“Ibrahim picked up the Bible.”

 

Anabia shook her head, “That means…”

 

“He cared about his sister and so he fought for her. Tahmeed fought for you too. What we do, Exorcisms is caring.” Tomas is shouting now but he can’t stop.

 

“God, Allah, he cares. He brought Ibrahim to you, brought me to you. Brought Marcus…” Tomas chest hurts but he barrels on. “If you don’t care then what is the point of being an Exorcist.”

 

The car rings with silence three nights of no sleep, copious caffeine, heartbreak and fear finally catch Tomas and leave him breathless.

 

“I can see why Marcus likes you.”

 

Tomas snorts a laugh, used to his own passive aggressive Exorcist enough to recognise a peace offering when he sees one.

 

They finish the drive to the hospital in silence with only their thoughts for company.  As they drive into the Hospital car park Tomas heart leaps as he recognises Marcus’ car parked haphazardly across nearly two spaces. The sight elicits the first real smile he’s managed all day.

 

He jumps out of the car and gathers his bags, Anabia watches him as she drums her fingers on the searing wheel.

 

“Where are you headed?” Tomas asks.

 

She rolls her eyes, “I suppose I’ll see if Hana’s offer is still good.”

 

“Tahmeed will be so pleased.” Tomas laughs.

 

“Yes, I suspect he will like having a grand-student to boss around.”

 

“Thank you.” Tomas says, looking straight into her eyes so she knows he means it.

 

She nods, “Thank you too. Tell Marcus I’m thinking of him.”

 

Tomas watches as she pulls away, back the way she came. For a second of pure panicked hesitancy he almost runs after her.

 

Her car must be leaking oil, leaving a rainbow sheen on the asphalt. Tomas considers it as he weighs the familiar weight of Marcus’ Bible in his hand and he knows he is making the right choice.


	5. V

Marcus is paler that Tomas has ever seen him.  A brief conversation with the exasperated Nurse on shift had convinced Tomas that Marcus had taken something for the pain, albeit grudgingly. He’s sleeping fitfully now, his eyes flittering under his eyelids. His leg is in a hideous green cast and his nose has had to be re-set.

 

No other sight could be so beautiful.

 

With Marcus finally in his sights Tomas is calm enough to remember he should call his nominal boss to let him know where they are.

 

Bennet picks up after the second ring, “Tomas? I assume you’re with Marcus.”

 

“He’s sleeping.” Tomas murmured, unwilling to raise his voice and change that. “What the hell happened Bennett?”

 

He can hear the eye roll through the phone line, “Altercation with the husband of a possession victim. He’s had the situation explained to him and he’s dropped all charges.”

 

“The possessed, Should I…”

 

“You need to stay with Marcus, Father Ortega.” Bennett has perfected his put- upon tone, “Sister Agnes has taken her to the convent and she will be well cared for there. I did tell Marcus that she was already on her way, but you know him.”

 

“I’m just glad she’s okay now.”  Tomas says.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind please don’t let Marcus try any more solo exorcisms.” Bennett sighs.

 

Tomas chuckles, “I think we are in agreement there.”

 

They say their goodbyes just as Marcus starts to stir. He opens his eyes and they stare at one another, the weight of the past day making anything but blinking inanely at each other impossible.

 

Marcus spots his Bible cradled in Tomas’ lap and his mouth quirks upwards, “I wondered where I left that.” he croaks.

 

Tomas scoffs, leaning forward to fill the little plastic cup with water and balance a stripy straw for Marcus to drink.

 

“So I’m still your emergency contact then.” He offers.

 

“Well.” Marcus says his voice and colour getting back to normal, “It was you or the Almighty and you know he’s screening my calls.”

 

“I’ve never believed that.” Tomas smiles.

 

Marcus shook his head, echoing with his own little smirk. “You got the worse end of the deal so more fool you.”

 

Tomas can only smile at Marcus. If he had ever doubted Marcus’ regard he would have cause to again. Sitting in this uncomfortable hospital chair helping Marcus drink water out of a tiny straw is where he is meant to be. He thinks of that Rubicon with its parallel banks and considers dipping his toes in again.

 

“My day was horrible, what about yours?” Tomas asks.

 

“Not great.” Marcus agrees, gesturing to his cast.

 

“Do you think someone’s trying to tell us something?” Tomas says.

 

Marcus breaks eye contact with him, looking down at his hand where they are fiddling with the water cup. “Tomas….”

 

“I’m not sorry for what I did.” Tomas says feeling buoyed by the certainty of every word. “This job is hard. I believe in what I am doing, the rightness and the truth of it. But it demands everything from us and then we have to start again the next day.”

 

Tomas places Marcus Bible in the no-mans land of mattress between them. “And the truth is that what makes up Tomas Ortega is Marcus Keane, your faith in me, your strength, and your friendship. And I want to believe the same is true for you.”

 

Marcus looks like he is about to interrupt and Tomas cannot bear the idea of Marcus cutting him down now. So he barrels on.

 

“The brother of the child Anabia and I exorcised. He was so scared for her but he fought that and helped us. You could see that he felt a calling today. I remember feeling that for the first  time, do you remember?”

 

“Yes.” Marcus breathes.

 

“I know God wanted us to meet. I knew that then and I know it now.” Tomas knows his voice is shaking. He can’t stop himself from babbling and his must look terrible because Marcus can’t stop staring. He needs to explain because he cares so much and if he can’t explain it’ll be for nothing and….

 

Marcus kisses him. And Tomas can breathe, his brain quietening down to a single rumble of Marcus’ name.  The position is all wrong and Marcus winces slightly as he strains his broken leg. But it’s perfect. Tomas cradled Marcus’ face, feeling again that shivering pulse under his fingertips.

This time when Marcus pulls away it’s with gentle brush of lips at the end, a coma rather than a full stop.

 

“I take everything from you without asking.” He murmurs, stroking Tomas’s cheek reverently, “It seemed too much to take that from you too.”

 

“I can’t be angry with you for taking what I’ve already taken from you.” Tomas whispers.

 

He returns to kissing Marcus, delighted that he has the right to do so. It feels like they are finally together on this path. It feels easy and right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year. Thanks for sticking with me and the erratic update schedule.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone.
> 
> I thought i was done with this fic after Neophytes, but no, the damned plot bunnies got in the idea patch again.  
> Please leave kudos and comments. Especially if you have any suggestions about how i have written the Muslim characters in the fic. I'm very aware i may have gotten somethings wrong which i can only apologize for and will try and change. 
> 
> I have already written the entire thing because i know what I'm like for finishing projects so hopefully I'll get the next chapters up soon. 
> 
> thank you.  
> I can be found at http://pigeonstatueconundrum.tumblr.com/


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